At First Sight
by LWallace
Summary: What was the doctor feeling the day of Christy Huddleston's arrival in Cutter Gap? Would you please review?


DISCLAIMER: Catherine Marshall's story of Christy is owned by the Marshall-LeSourd Family, L.L.C. I am in no way seeking profit or credit for her story. I am expanding the story of Christy only for my own amusement.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is intended to portray the memorable first day of Christy Huddleston's arrival in Cutter Gap from the view point of Neil MacNeill. The exact event of their meeting is according to the CBS series pilot, as the author felt the visual would invoke greater prominence, more so to those who have only seen the television show. I hope you enjoy it, and please leave feedback (critical or otherwise) and/or suggestions and let me know what you think. Thank you for reading.

Neil MacNeill grumbled as he saddled his horse. Thoughts pervaded his mind all too often these days, and usually he accepted the necessity of his work as an outlet and escape. But the state of Cutter Gap seemed to be getting worse, in spite of the work of Alice Henderson's mission, and he almost begrudged this day.

It was cold, grey. He looked dismally down at his fingers poking through his gloves and sighed. There was no one to mend them.

Normally the cold air would have invigorated him, the prospect of helping his friends given him new strength, but today he felt like a weak old man.

He had been up most of the night doing research on trachoma, and was excited to think he had come across something important, only to have his high hopes dashed. The storm last night seemed to rage and mock him—so he raged and mocked right back.

"I pity anyone out in this rain," he had said to himself, and his voice seemed to reverberate through the empty cabin. Alice had told him the new school teacher would be coming around about this time, and he hoped whoever it was wasn't stuck in the stuff.

For one thing, then he would probably end up treating them for pneumonia, and he had had his fill of the mission teachers. The first Alice had had brought in was a young blonde woman who had apparently thought she was getting a job as a librarian at a well established school, but acted more like Ruby Mae Morrison than a grown woman. Dr. MacNeill had thought Alice had more sense than to choose a girl like her to come to this God-forsaken place . . . "But maybe Ferrand chose her," he thought wryly.

The girl was immature and never spoke about anything seriously. Neil could barely abide her company, and when she began flirting with him, he avoided the mission almost entirely, which, however, he didn't find incredibly difficult.

She had left very soon and was replaced by an elegant woman in her mid twenties, a reserved city girl who was only looking for a job and seemed disturbed and annoyed by everyone in Cutter Gap.

She and the new minister, David Grantland, had been courting, but she suddenly pulled up stakes and left. The doctor had heard from local gossip that she had received a letter proposing marriage from one of her beaus and had left immediately, leaving the jilted preacher and many hurt children in her wake.

Dr. MacNeill thought hiring yet another was a mistake and had said so to Alice. The preacher however seemed excited by the proposition, for more than one reason, the doctor suspected.

Neil was sure the new teacher would be some other city girl, running away because of a tiff she had had with her parents or lover, and he figured she would turn tail and run back the other way.

"No," Alice had said, smiling. "I think this one may be different."

"Don't tell me she isn't running away from home." The doctor couldn't help the edge of sarcasm.

"Quite the contrary, Neil. From what I have gathered, that is precisely what she is doing. But we mustn't judge, for I have a feeling she will come to know some great truths in this. God knows where this path will take her."

He had argued, saying she would hurt the children even more when she left, break their hearts all over again—and someone else's too, he added mentally as he looked at Grantland sitting there smugly. He almost said it, but didn't, it would be simply too cruel. True, but cruel.

No, he thought. She'll probably end up marrying him, going to Boston and living happily ever after. And good riddance! Why should he care?

She would be scared to death, and undoubtedly would not be devoted to the cove, only going home to gossip about all their backward country ways.

The more he pondered it the more skeptical he became. He would set the snippet straight though, and make sure she knew what she was doing before she passed them off as ignorant. He would stand up for his people and what was best for them.

Call it arrogance, he thought, but that's what I've got to do.

If her interests were in the right place then he would challenge and encourage them. He doubted that though. She would probably end up being worse than the other two.

"What a pessimist I am," he said as he patted his stallion's neck. "Let's go, Charlie. We've a lot to do."

He continued contemplating these things as he rode down the narrow trail, brushing branches and thorns aside.

The cove was in an unusual state of excitement over the coming of the new teacher. Bob Allen had even consented to Alice's request to take the trek to El Pano and bring her over the mountain. Neil hoped they would be all right, for the way was hard this time of year. Well, harder than usual, he reconsidered.

He recalled his visit to the Spencer cabin the past week, how he had sat down for a friendly chat with Fairlight as they discussed the Spencer children's constitutions.

"What do you think of the teacher who's coming?" he had asked, packing away his stethoscope.

She smiled beautifully. "We reckon—Jeb an' me—that it'll be a good thing, if'n it lasts. We've been hopin' and prayin' for somebody to give our young'uns some learnin', John 'specially."

"Did he work his way through the book he showed me?"

She nodded proudly. "I thank ye for helpin' 'im. Done it all causin' yer help. That other teacher, now, she jest give it to him and didn't show him how to work the figgers."

The doctor was silent a moment. "Fairlight, about the new teacher that Alice hired . . . What about her? You're looking at me that way again!"

She chuckled like a secretive schoolgirl and kept staring at him. "I had a dream," she whispered. "Two nights ago. I seen her. . .the teacher. Knowed she's somethin' special."

He leaned forward, intent on her words. He had never taken anything Fairlight said lightly. She was said to have the ability of "second sight", though this was of little concern to MacNeill, a scientist, who trusted facts. He valued Fairlight's opinion as his friend.

"There was something else. What was it?" he asked, seeing it in her eyes.

She glanced at him with a half shy, half _sly_ expression. "I didn't recognize her right off. Thought she was somebody else—even though I didn't see 'er face—but I know that God has a big plan for her comin' here. I reckon you'll understand soon enough."

He snapped out of his reverie—he must stay alert through these woods.

What had she meant by that? So Alice and now Fairlight were talking about how _God_ was bringing the next novelty here. God? What did God have to do with anything? How could there be a god at the same all the suffering he had seen existed? They couldn't both be real, and inside his cold heart there was only room for one. He fought both, came face to face with both on a daily basis, though he didn't know it, and only saw the one that as a doctor he hated.

The other he hated as a man, a man full of pride, of human flaws, and of hurt.

"How could there be a god when I keep failing to find help for so many things that bring pain to my people? It's like he wants them to suffer, like he wants _me_ to suffer," was his constant justification for his own rebellion.

But for the past few weeks, the doctor had suffered more than anyone knew. He had lost some of his patients, his friends, to senseless feuding . . . the endless accidents, sicknesses . . . they plagued him in a different way than they did his people, for he felt the burden of each individual's pain and was afflicted in mind, heart, and body.

When rain began to fall heavily from the sky as he plodded along, the atmosphere of early morning, the air of fog and cold, the smell of wet earth, the moaning and sorrow of many hurting people, seemed to reflect his mood. To Neil, it reflected himself sliding, falling, ebbing away in a million liquid fragments, taking with it what little joy he had and leaving haunting images of what had been, what was, but no glimmer of hope for the future.

He slumped, downcast in his saddle as the words of a lingering air followed him . . .

Hang your head over,

Hear the wind blow . . .

Quickly he sat upright.

"I will not be broken. These people need me and I will do my duty—no matter what happens to me—if it's the last thing I do. I will drive on and nothing will weigh me down. I will put aside my own longings and—and I will . . ."

His emphatic murmuring ceased. This was miserable. One of the most miserable days he had ever faced and it had barely begun. What was wrong with him?

How could he give up the longing for someone to love and care for, to talk to about his patients, to be with him when he was tired, a helpmate, someone who understood his work . . ? Margaret hadn't.

He cursed himself and pushed his thoughts aside yet again.

That would never happen—not in a million years. It was useless to dream . . . where on earth would he ever find a wife, a helpmate?

The answer was nowhere. He was in no position to marry. Why it was obviously not something to consider in his profession. And no one would want to marry him. No one ever had wanted to marry him really. All she had wanted was an escape.

Little did Neil know, but God was in control of everything that was happening, from the smallest, annoying disturbances, to the things that energized and cheered him. Through the past few weeks, He had been showing him along a hard trail, in preparation for what was ahead. God was playing on the doctor's heartstrings, in a way that would ultimately bring him to his knees, only to enable him to rise the taller and stronger—a new creature.

But the doctor had no idea at the moment, and when he was called to tend to the sick and heal the wounded, he endeavored to respond with joy and determination. That wasn't difficult, for he could not mope like a child as he went in and out of his friend's homes, eating with them their poor fare, hearing their complaints, sharing in their laughter, gaining their trust and confidence one long hard day at a time. To them he was a hero, their "Bonnie Prince Neil," and they would do anything for him.

There were those most devoted, yet there were some who held feelings of anger towards him for occurrences that were out of his hands, which only served to lessen his own confidence.

So he masked it; hid it with a bold face full of self-assurance, and perhaps a little conceit. His performance came off a little too well sometimes, as he would soon discover.

The day had turned out to be better than he expected, the sun shone warmer in the sky, and finished with his rounds, he turned homeward.

Suddenly there was a disturbance in the brush, and a tall, scraggly man appeared.

"What is it, Nathan?" MacNeill asked the bearded highlander, who had a rifle over his shoulder. He looked displeased.

"Doc, I bin a-traipsin' all over these mountains lookin' fer ye. I bin sent."

"By who? What's the trouble, man?"

Nathan spit, biding his time, enjoying having the elusive physician in suspense, Neil guessed. He looked hard into the man's eyes before Nathan growled slowly,

"Wa-a-al . . . ye be needed up Big Creek."

Without offering any further information, he stalked off.

Neil wouldn't let himself be bothered—he figured he knew where Nathan meant.

He took off at a fast pace along the quickest trails, glad that he knew these mountains like the back of his hand, and during the ride, preparing his mind for whatever task he would have to perform.

It wasn't hard to locate them; angry shouting filled the woods. Quickly he surveyed the situation. It was some of Nathan O'Teale's cronies, men he didn't know very well, and he guessed they were hired blockade transporters. He observed that they were all quite drunk, and were crowding two rioting young men, cheering them on. Mere lads, he thought. He knew them both.

This was nothing he hadn't tackled before. He dismounted and stormed through their midst. "Stand back! What happened, Lundy? You tell me the truth now."

"Wul, Doc, we's jest havin' a little fun," the pimply teenager whined. "We'un's havin' us a celebration—we had our plan to welcome the new teacher."

The doctor ignored him, dropping to his knees by the side of the other boy, Jeff Robertson, who looked up at him half fearfully.

"A gunshot wound to his arm, hours old. The bullet's still in. When did this happen?"

He knew better than to demand the culprit, and his steely calm woke the men up somewhat. Though from several miles distant, they all knew the doctor's reputation for handing out light knocks if needed.

"Lundy here wast watchin' the still last night," explained one of the more sober men, "When this here rattler snuck up to commence stealin' some. The Taylor protected our interests."

"The dirty worm shot at me!" cried Lundy contemptuously. The doctor's gaze swept him up and down.

"Only caught the cloth of your sleeve," he stated calmly, and turned back to the boy, who was biting his pale lip to hold back the groans.

The shot that tore into Jeff's arm had obviously been fired from a sizeable distance, as the bullet was still in, leaving MacNeill to doubt if their story was true. But he shrugged that off, saying,

"This happened last night? And you've only just sent for me?"

The men looked blankly at each other.

"Never mind. I'll deal with you later—lucky for you this is only slightly infected. Build me a fire. Quick!"

He made his patient as comfortable as he could alongside the gurgling creek bed, cleaned his instruments with all the thoroughness of a white-coated surgeon, and made sure the brawling onlookers were scared enough of him to do as they were bid.

He didn't dare allow any of them to act as assistant, not even the more sober ones, as Jeff Roberts was now their enemy. However they still stood there gawkily, open-mouthed, obviously impressed, and Neil noticed a few more men coming out of the woods to watch. This was, after all, high-class entertainment. He had once overheard an old mountaineer brag to a visiting cousin that having a doctor in Cutter Gap had given them real distinction throughout the mountains.

"Awful in'erestin' business, too, if'n ye don't mind some of his addlepated ideas," he had said, smacking his gums with an authoritative air.

The doctor produced a bottle of ether out of his bag, glad he had prepared it with an ethanol mixture the night before, but administering it was tricky—usually there was someone to help. He made a mental note to always try and have someone else hold the sickly sweet smelling liquid to the patient's face.

The stones of the bank dug through the doctor's trousers as he knelt lightly. His now dry jacket had been cast aside, his rumpled sleeves rolled up. The smell of moonshine, fish-permeated water, and medicine created a unique atmosphere in this rustic operating room.

He felt for the bullet, wondering that the boy had stood the pain so long. It had come almost completely through, so he delicately removed the skin on the other side of the arm and had it out in a short while.

Using sutures, he stitched the boy up carefully, both sides, after applying a number of disinfectants and pain relievers. He was pleased and thought it a rather fine job, and after checking Lundy over, he took Jeff home himself.

"Do you need anything, Jeff?" he asked as the boy swung himself laboriously off of Charlie's back.

"Naw. I thank ye, doc, fer what ye done me. I'll be repaying ya."

"Don't try to move your arm. Don't get it wet, and see to it you don't go snooping around any more stills."

"I'll try not to, doc," the boy said sheepishly.

"I'll come by in a few days. _Don't_ ruin my lovely stitches."

After brushing off many thanks from the boy's anxious mother, Neil slowly made his way home . . . at one point stopping by a small stream, which was rushing along from its newly acquired source.

This was one of his favorite places. To any foreigner it would have been nothing to stop and admire—there were several sections of the stream far more beautiful. But it was his. To him it represented in a small way the vibrancy and life of these mountains. Strange how that could be nearly extinguished by man, killing each other over a petty land dispute, or a jug of seemingly precious liquor.

He breathed deeply. Despite the dreadful state of mind he had been in that morning, he felt expectant. It was an odd feeling—not one he could recall experiencing before. It seemed as if something was about to happen . . . Good or bad something big was going to happen that was terribly unexpected. Maybe being around Fairlight so much had rubbed off on him.

He sighed again as he mounted Charlie.

"Superstitions."

It was John Holcombe coming toward him, arms flailing, as if the doctor hadn't noticed him.

MacNeill broke his horse into a gallop, not even stopping completely as John shouted, "Doc MacNeill!—It be Bob Allen—his head's hurt bad! He's at the Spencer's . . !"

So that was it. Of course it turned out to be something bad after all.

"Oh god."

It took him only a matter of moments to reach the Spencer cabin, where he saw a crowd of people, hound dogs interspersed, near the house.

He bounded off as soon as he could—it was hard seeing his friend like this. Bob lay on the ground, his limbs mangled, blood coming from a nasty head wound.

"Two boys shot each other up in Big Creek last night," he said explanatorily. "John found me comin' home."

He was at Bob's side, placing his saddlebags beside him when he really looked up for the first time.

A small gloved hand was gently pressing a handkerchief on the punctured head. Neil raised his eyes to a bedraggled yet well-dressed young woman, staring at him through eyes filled with fear and wonderment.

The new teacher.

This was her? She seemed only a girl.

But her eyes. He was struck by them—full of life even in the fear and weariness that he saw at once in the blue orbs, full of spirit . . . So like her.

He saw reflected an innocent version of the woman who had once stolen his heart only to toss it back at him broken. This could've been her sister.

These thoughts passed through his mind in a matter of moments, and he made himself say, "Stand aside, please." He wasn't going to let anything distract him in any way. Nothing but Bob mattered now.

Slowly she rose, still gazing at him, to stand next to Ben Pentland.

MacNeill placed his hand gently on Bob's throat as he checked for response in the eyes. Barely a reaction. "He cut across Pebble Mountain," Tom was saying. "The big ol' poplar up there musta got wind-throwed. Thumped him right on the head. We was out huntin' squirrels and the ol' hound dog nosed him out of the bresh. The tree was still on him."

The puncture was near the temple, cutting down along the ear, and dried blood was around Bob's mouth as the doctor examined his tongue. Checking Bob's slow pulse the doctor made his diagnosis, scanning his memory for every possible solution to this dangerous gash. There was only one that could give Bob a real chance. 'That's what it'll have to be then,' he thought. 'The trephine.'

"Bob was going to El Pano to fetch the new school-teacher," he heard Ault Allen say. So she hadn't been present at that time, was MacNeill's thought. All the better for her.

"Let's get him up into the cabin," said the doctor.

"Gimme a hand, Ault," grunted Tom, as Neil carefully hoisted the limp man across Tom's shoulders. Speed was now of the essence, and everyone quickly responded, moving amidst the barking dogs to the house. Neil noticed the schoolteacher and Ben Pentland lagging behind--no doubt she was in complete shock and was going to faint dead away.

"You've sent for Mary, Ault?" Neil asked. The head of the Allen clan nodded grimly, and his worry showed plainly in his tight jaw.

The doctor hurriedly retrieved his bags, meeting Mary Allen, her baby on her hip, as he returned to the cabin. The poor woman was on a fine line between sanity and hysterics.

"Be it a mortalizin' wound?"

He could only reply honestly, "I don't know, Mary. But I do know it's almost impossible for him to breathe."

"Is he hurtin'?" she gasped.

"He's not, for sure. He's in a coma. Like a deep sleep, but it's getting deeper all the time."

He placed his bags on a nearby chair as he entered the dark doorway. Then came one of those moments he hated most, as Mary took in the sight of her husband and let out a grievous exclamation of half sob, half groan. He approached her, calming his mind, lowering his voice, steadying his tone, "Listen to me, now. When the tree fell on Bob, it made him bleed inside his skull. If I leave the bleeding there, Bob won't live." He glanced at Ault, whom he could see was struggling. "Now there's one chance, and that's to bore a small hole in the skull to let the bad blood out. Now, I've never tried this operation. I've only seen it done by a professor of mine. And I won't lie to you, Mary, it's risky. He might die. But without it, he surely will."

"I say no," Ault's voice was hard. "Bob's my little brother. And I stand against it. You ain't a believer, Doc. Life and death is in the hands of the Lord and we've no call to tamper with it."

MacNeill sighed . . . believing in something like that meant only death. Behind Ault he could see the teacher's eyes widen with fear and disbelief.

Mary spoke with pain and conviction. "No, Ault. We can't just let him go. We got six young'uns. Anything happened to Bob, I reckon we couldn't stand it. Try the operation." She looked quickly at Ault, and repeated determinedly, "I want you to try."

MacNeill turned to Ault, who looked at Bob, and back to the doctor, finally nodding solemnly, "All right."

For an instant longer the doctor deliberated within himself. There was almost nothing to be done, either way . . . if the operation failed, there would be more contempt, more distrust. He had no proper trephine instrument, there was poor light, a disgustingly unsanitary room--nor could he completely trust his memory for all the details of the operation his mind was recalling.

But Bob—and Mary . . . their children. At that the choice was made. He was going to try.

"All right, boil me some water." He pulled off his jacket as he reached Bob's side.

"John, help Ault move him to the bed. Lizzie, can you help Fairlight scrub this table? We'll use it to operate. Jeb, you have a razor, don't you, and a straight awl and hammer? Someone wash these pans—the big ones."

Finally the table was scrubbed, Bob laid upon it, and while the spring water the men had fetched was being brought to a boil, the doctor checked more reflexes—his arms and legs—located exactly the bad spot on his skull, and determined where to cut in.

As he was sterilizing his instruments and the straight awl in the boiling water he continued giving orders.

"Light all the lamps you have, Jeb, torches as well. I need them close. Cover Bob with that clean quilt now. Bring those candles over here."

Fairlight brought him one more pot of steaming water as the doctor was beginning to shave the section of Bob's scalp with Jeb's razor, now sharpened and sanitized.

Looking down he saw the Spencer least'un looking as if he wanted to handle a few of the surgical instruments.

"Confound you, little scamp," he said threateningly. He wasn't going to risk his earlier thoroughness for kindness. "Fairlight, keep him away or we'll have to boil these again."

She directed him gently to go outside, following that by saying loudly, "All right, children, everybody outside. Come on."

"If you're close kin and feel called on to stay then stand back and no crying or wailing," he said, prompted by the look Fairlight gave him.

He wondered where Mary Allen had gone just as she came through the open doorway, heaving an axe into the floor, as he expected her to do at some point. He saw the teacher gasp as her gloved hand flew to her mouth.

Mary then tied the symbolic string around her husband's wrist.

"That's fine, Mary. That should be helpful. Jeb, can you take care of Mary till this is over with?" Jeb carefully set his lamp near the doctor's instruments as Neil prepared the ether. Someone to assist . . . he summoned the first person his gaze fell upon.

"You there, I need help." The teacher looked utterly bewildered as she came haltingly towards the surgeon.

"It's ether," he explained stolidly, handing her the cloth. "Hold that loosely over his mouth and nose."

Gingerly she did as he commanded, while he studied the awl quickly, sensing she wouldn't be able to sustain for long—now she was breathing hard, slightly shaking her head.

Worried all of a sudden, he realized his mistake. What had possessed him to engage her aid?

"Get out. Now."

Jeb supported her as she stumbled backward, overcome. When she turned and escaped out the door, something there seemed completely changed to Neil . . . what it was he did not know, and did not care to contemplate.

Ben Pentland came forward, completing the anesthetic as Neil wiped down the shaved scalp with the same substance.

"Not too close, Ben. There."

He could hear Fairlight and the children singing softly to the gentle strains of a dulcimer as he readied the straight awl. It would have to do as his primary instrument, with its cylindrical blade, though it was blunter than he would've wished, making it more difficult to cut into the flesh.

The men who surrounded him at a respectful distance were just as intrigued as the moonshiners who had witnessed the surgery of earlier that day, if not more so. He wondered if anyone was praying.

So far all was going well, now the difficult part would be to get the certain section of skull out in one piece, enabling him to be able to replace it after the blood had been drained. If he could not accomplish that, then all would be for loss. A small thrust here, a larger one there . . . wipe down the region after each few cuts in order to see . . . the vibrations of metal on bone was far from pleasant--he shut off his ears from the sound . . . detach this section from that one . . . probe and feel . . . place the trepan in . . . There! At length a trickle of the pressuring blood came out, with a repellent sound of air rushing into the skull. Even more attentiveness was required now as he concentrated the drainage of a specific region . . . but there seemed to be a good probability now of success.

Outside it was growing dark, the crowd of people lessened as time passed, and it began to rain.

At long last the bad blood was exhausted from the wound, the piece of skull replaced, the head stitched up, and bandages applied.

The doctor checked over everything one more time—reflexes, pulse—and finally heaved a sigh of relief that that much was done. His friend was still living.

Everyone in the room began talking in hushed tones at once. "How is he, doc?" asked John Holcombe.

"If the bleeding doesn't start up again, he's got a fighting chance," he replied, happy he was able to give such news.

He looked around for Ben Pentland after Bob had been transported across the room to the Spencer's one large bed, locating him in a corner, talking away cheerfully with one of the men.

"Ben, how about seeing your lady friend to the mission? No doubt she's exhausted."

"Wul here I am jawin' and near plumb forgot about Miz Christy Huddleston, Doc! Thank you kindly."

"Christy Huddleston?" the doctor mused.

"Yessir, right nice gal. Little odd . . . but what'd ye expect from outsiders?"

"Right, Ben. Good seeing you. Though under the circumstances . . ."

"Naw, doc. I wouldn'ta missed it for the state of Tennessee. Jest you wait till the boys back at the livery stable hear about it—Christy Huddleston walkin' seven miles to Cutter Gap and the doctor savin' Bob Allen's life all in a day! Hmph!"

"Be careful, Ben. You'd best take her the way that leads to the south side of the mission house, they'll see you coming from there. Keep an eye on her, she's likely to collapse again."

"Will do, doc," Ben replied as he walked out the door.

That night, Neil settled down with a raggedy blanket on the rough puncheon floor near the bed in which Bob lay. Everyone had gone to bed, the house was dark, the rain only falling in pleasant shimmers of water upon the windows.

The doctor didn't want to go to sleep, afraid the now even breathing coming from above him would take a turn for the worse. He kept seeing Bob's limp body as it had lain out in the leaves, "Big poplar . . . thumped him right on the head . . ." What was that Lundy had said? "We had our plan to welcome the new teacher." He kept seeing her despondent eyes gazing at him. "Christy Huddleston," Ben had said. Christy . . . "You there, I need--."

The least'un was pulling at the blanket that covered the doctor.

"What is it?" he asked groggily.

The child just sat there, hunched on his knees, staring somberly at him.

The doctor half rose as well. "You shouldn't be out of bed, wee one. What do you need?"

"Did you see the teacher?" the boy whispered in his small voice.

"Yes I saw her. Why?"

"Do ye reckon she'll be nice? She's awful perty."

After a moment the doctor replied, "I'm sure she'll be very kind to you, Least'un, and teach you all sorts of things."

As if that was all the answer required, the child cuddled in next to the doctor and sighed. Within a few moments he was asleep, though the doctor lay on his back long afterward, glad Least'un's trust wasn't marred.

He imagined he could barely see the glimmer of starlight outside the window . . . it echoed a lovely name, a name that from that moment on, would forever be imprinted on the heart of Neil MacNeill, though he himself would not be aware of the growing emotion till sometime later. For now, as he recalled the outsider whose eyes could be so frightened and so full of spirit at the same time, the girl who reminded him of his dead wife, knowing her name was enough.


End file.
